


Black Glass

by estas_absentis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Breathplay, Consensual Imperius, Consensual Non-Consent, D/s, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 14:24:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estas_absentis/pseuds/estas_absentis
Summary: Remus already holds Sirius’ heart in his hands, carries it with him through the world, could crush it if he chose. Why not his mind, his self, too?(PWP with consensual use of the Imperius curse. You've been warned).





	Black Glass

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing came out of a conversation about how hot it would be to have sex with a certain well-known stage hypnotist. Just go with it.
> 
> Everything in this story is entirely consensual, but if consensual relinquishing of consent is stressful for you, please don't read it. And please do let me know if you think anything else needs warning for.

_"My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling.  
The enormity of my desire disgusts me.”  (Richard Siken, Birds Hover the Trampled Field)_

 

 

Sirius sits on the low couch and picks at the ragged skin at the edge of his thumbnail, the ticking of the kitchen clock very loud in the silent room. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, suddenly self-conscious and wrong-footed in his own flat, every passing second bringing Remus’ arrival home closer.

He straightens the books on the coffee table for something to do, having already powered through the stacked-up backlog of dirty pots ten minutes earlier, the cuffs of his shirt still damp with lukewarm water and clinging unpleasantly to his forearms. He contemplates changing out of it, pulling on another one – or ditching it all together. _No, stupid idea,_ he thinks, _don’t do that._

He’s as nervous as he’s ever been on a first date, not that he’s had many of those, having lived with Remus for nine years of his life and been in (blessedly, miraculously reciprocated) love with him for effectively half of them. Tonight, though, tonight is –

He startles at the sound of Remus’ footfall in the corridor, the minute relaxation of their wards, a change in the air as if the flat is sighing, relieved that he’s home. Sirius is, too, despite his jitters – London is feeling less safe by the day, a strange tension in the air almost all the time now, like electricity gathering in the clouds before a storm.

He clatters through the door, shrugging off his heavy satchel and kicking off his shoes. He deposits his parka on the little hook Sirius had fixed to the back of the front door on their first day living here, feeling dizzy with love, giddy with the domesticity of making with his hands a place for Remus, creating something from which a routine could be hung. Sirius loves the flat – loves how small it is, how he can talk to Remus even from the bedroom or watch him cook from the sofa. How they can fill the whole place with themselves, every cubic foot stacked high with love, with cigarette smoke and stupid laughter.

He must be staring, because Remus is looking at him, puzzled, his head tilted to one side like Sirius is a painting he can’t quite bring into perspective. “Alright, there?” he asks, his voice cheerfully uncertain, a smile quirking one corner of his mouth.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m good. How was uni?” Sirius asks, not enough space between the words to sound truly casual. Remus makes a little face and rolls his eyes, crossing the open-plan sitting room to flop down next to Sirius. He tilts his head back over the edge of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling and rubbing the triangle of skin between his eyebrows with his index finger and thumb.

“Bloody frustrating. I’m still stuck transcribing those lectures for my supervisor – Christ, that man can talk. Wouldn’t know a full stop if it pinched him on the arse. Some of the sentences are half a page long, Sirius, he talks like the last chapter of _Ulysses_.”

Sirius smiles despite himself, leans over and the kisses the reddened patch of skin Remus has been rubbing. “Don’t take it out on your eyebrows, Moony, they don’t deserve it”, he teases gently, kissing the space again before he settles back into his corner of the sofa. Some of the anxiousness is fading now, the easy familiarity of Remus’ presence smoothing Sirius out, the way it’s always done.

Remus moves to sit up, affects a comically surprised expression as he looks around the room. “Have you… Sirius Black, you’ve tidied up!” he exclaims, then narrows his eyes a little, “What have you done?”

“Do I need to have _done_ anything? I’m wounded” says Sirius, feeling the flutter of nerves licking back up his throat. Does Remus not remember? It’s not the sort of conversation you’d forget, surely?

Remus is eyeing him speculatively. Sirius can see the moment realisation dawns, his eyes widening a bit, the scar traversing the bridge of his nose pulling tight when he raises his eyebrows.

“Oh”

“Oh what?”

“Oh _that_. The thing. What we were talking about last night.”

“Possibly.”

“Listen, if you don’t want to – if you’ve changed your mind, that’s fine, Sirius. You have to be sure, you can tell me – “

“No! No, I want… I want to. A lot, actually. I’m just nervous. _Because_ I want to.” Sirius winces at his conversational skills, gone out the window all of a sudden, along with his trademark confidence and ability to keep his cool around Remus Lupin.

“You’re sure? I’m happy to do it for you, but – “

“I’m sure” he snaps quickly, wanting to leave no room for doubt in Remus’ mind “are you? I know it’s a lot to ask, it would be fine if you don’t… if you don’t. You know, want to.”

Remus looks at him, his brown eyes clear. “Sirius, I love you. I can’t pretend it’s not a bit…odd” he raises a finger against Sirius’ interruption, “but yes, I’m sure.”

Sirius swallows, trying not to let the warring terror and excitement show too much on his face. He clearly fails, because Remus splutters out a laugh at his facial expression and quickly tries to conceal it with a cough. “Shall we do it now, then?” he asks, and Sirius feels his stomach plunge roughly to the vicinity of his knees.

“It’s five o clock.”

“Sirius, love… I don’t think it’s going to be any less weird if we wait until seven to do this. I’ll go and grab a quick shower and then we can, I dunno, just see what happens. Alright?”

Sirius nods. It is alright.

He smokes approximately five of Remus dry, pre-skinned rollies while he’s out of the room, stealing them from the little Welsh Dragon tin he keeps in his coat pocket. Sirius can’t roll for shit, so he normally buys straights, but Remus has it down to an art form, his narrow fingers forming the paper and tobacco into neat little cylinders like a production line. There’s something unbearably erotic about watching him do it, the clever twisting of his digits and the precise darting lick of his pink tongue as he seals them – if it means he can watch him do it forever, Sirius will never improve his technique.

He’s just flicking the ash from the final one when Remus emerges from the bathroom, jogging bottoms and a soft cotton t shirt clinging to his damp skin, his towel-dry hair curling around his ears. Sirius watches as he stops in the little kitchen and pours himself two fingers of Firewhiskey, downs them in one and rolls his shoulders as if shaking loose a kink from his back.

“You’re not the only one who’s nervous” he says, when Sirius looks askance at the empty highball glass, then adds, voice deliberately neutral, “bedroom?”

“We could. Erm,” starts Sirius, his voice quaking a little, “we could start in here. Maybe.”

“Is that how you’ve imagined it?” Remus walks towards him across the little room, standing close enough that Sirius can feel the heat from his body, smell the soap on his skin. Sirius nods, not trusting his voice against the lump that’s suddenly in his throat. He can’t believe this is actually happening.

Remus leans in for a kiss, gentle at first, just the warmth of his mouth and his chest pressing against Sirius’. His eyes slip closed and he winds his arms around Remus, his hands resting on his upper arms, feeling the wiry strength coiled there. This close, he could count every scar and freckle, would love to do exactly that, catalogue every tiny feature of his miraculous face, take him to pieces for future reassembly.

“Last chance to say no” Remus breathes against Sirius’ lips, and Sirius shivers.

“I want to, I told you,” he says, “besides, you can make me tell you if I’m not enjoying it. It’ll be –“ but whatever placatory thing he was going to say to Remus is cut short as he whispers, against Sirius’ jaw, his wand suddenly pulled from his trouser pocket and digging into Sirius’ chest, “ _Imperio_ ”

A sudden feeling of dizziness, like being stoned, rushes over him in a wave, a warm blooming like sitting down into a full bathtub. He looks at Remus, who has a startled expression on his face, as if he can’t believe he actually did it.

 

Sirius waited a long time to float this as an idea, but he’s been thinking about it for months, years even. The idea of Remus being inside of his mind, completely in control, the idea of being subsumed by him, temporarily free of his astounding ability to make terrible choices, to just _cede_ everything to Remus… it’s breathtaking. He never in a million years thought his partner would go for it, had to get himself blind drunk to even broach the subject, embarrassed by the force of his desire, the need to be annihilated, sweetly engulfed by Remus’ goodness, free from the curse of his blood and his bad thoughts, the reflexive cruelty he knows lays dormant in his soul.

Remus already holds Sirius’ heart in his hands, carries it with him through the world, could crush it if he chose. Why not his mind, his self, too?

“Kiss me” he says, and Sirius is doing it without thinking, without being able to think. He gasps at the feeling, the twisting compulsion that animates his lips, the overwhelming need to do what Remus tells him to. He’s achingly hard already, making an embarrassing whining noise in the back of his throat. He doesn’t deserve this, to have his whole heart taken so carefully, to be held so safely in Remus’ hands, who the fuck does he think he even is to want this, when he is demonstrably so lacking?

But Remus. Remus is so good, Remus who will always forgive him, Remus with his tea and his books and his wry smiling mouth, Remus with his hard, scarred skin and soft, open heart, Remus who loves him. He has always saved Sirius, will always, is saving him _right now_ , indulging him in this, his unfairest whim, this latest instance of Sirius asking for too much.

“Stop beating yourself up” Remus says, and Sirius starts to develop a tension headache.

“Remus I – argh” he grunts, pressing his palm to his forehead, and Remus’ eyes go very wide when he realises what he’s done.

“Never mind that, Sirius. Ignore it. It’s fine, you can think whatever you want. God, sorry, I –“

The pain in Sirius’ head clears almost instantly and he snorts out a little laugh, amused by how objectively ridiculous it is. Remus starts to smile too, his exterior cracking a little before he reigns it in and barks “Stop laughing” at Sirius, who falls silent immediately, the feeling akin to being underwater, suffocating, immovable.

“Right” says Remus, a dazed expression on his face. He casts his eyes around, like he can’t decide what to have Sirius do. Sirius fiddles awkwardly with the hem of his shirt.

“Take that off” Remus tells him, and Sirius is complying instantly, his fingers working almost on their own as Remus continues “your jeans too, there you go.” His voice is sweetly encouraging and his gaze appreciative as he looks across at Sirius, backing up a couple of feet and telling him to lose his boxers too. Sirius feels the warm sting of embarrassment as he slips them off, stands naked in front of his fully-clothed boyfriend, his cock hard against his belly.

“Look me in the eye” he says, and Sirius feels his cheeks redden even further, unable to break from Remus’ gaze, the hungry glint in his eye. “Follow me to the bedroom now” he commands, and Sirius starts to walk before Remus adds “actually, wait. Get on your knees, good, you’re being so _good_ , Sirius. You go first, go on…”

Sirius is crawling, feeling awkward about the whole thing, acutely aware that Remus is watching his naked arse as he crawls, the dipping curve of his back. He feels so _exposed_. When he reaches the bedroom he stops moving, waits at the foot of the bed. He hears Remus’ sharp intake of breath at the sight of him there, waiting, unable to do anything _but_ wait.

 

“ _Jesus_ , Sirius. Okay, stand up” (he does) “tell me if this is still okay, be honest about it”

“This is the most turned on I’ve ever been in my life” says Sirius, without thinking, and claps a palm to his own mouth, as if he’s trying to force the words back in. Remus grins, incongruously sweet, kisses him once on the cheek before he steps back again.

“Undress me, then” he says, and Sirius is reaching out, his arms feeling both heavy and light, divesting Remus of his pullover, his ratty jeans. He’s pleased to see Remus is hard, that it’s not just Sirius enjoying this. Something about that makes him feel less selfish, even though he knows asking for this at all was exactly that.

When they’re both naked they stand and look at each other for a long moment before Remus tells him to get on the bed. Sirius feels his knees buckle, like he’s being pushed down, and finds himself sitting on the edge, looking expectantly at his partner. “On your back, I mean. Up against the pillows” Remus specifies, and Sirius crawls backwards until he’s where Remus wants him.

Remus positions himself between Sirius’ thighs, looking down at him, his gaze burning. “Don’t kiss me back” he says, and bends his lips down to Sirius’, pulling his lower lip down with one thumb, sliding his tongue along the immobile line of his mouth. Sirius wants to open up for him, to press back into it, but he finds he can’t – when he tries he just gets an overwhelming pain in his head, and when he stops resisting he’s rewarded with that same sweet dizziness, the endorphin rush of compliance that seems to be built in to the charm. Remus pulls back Sirius’ lip one last time, biting gently, running his tongue and then his thumb over his teeth as if he can’t believe it’s working.

“This is the only time in our lives I will _ever_ get you to keep your mouth shut, isn’t it?” he asks fondly, remembering to add “You can go back to normal now – kiss me if you want”. Sirius lunges forward and enthusiastically obeys, drunk on love, on Remus’ focused attention, on his own gratefulness.

Remus leans over Sirius to grab a little tube of lubricant from the nightstand. He looks intently at Sirius’ face for a second – Remus is flushed, the scarring on his face standing out white against the reddening flesh. He’s _perfect_. “Palm out” he says, and Sirius offers his hand, feels the cool of the gel being squeezed onto his fingers.

Remus sits back on his heels, idly running his hand over his own cock a couple of times as he looks at Sirius. “Spread that over your fingers – good, that’s right, Sirius. I want you to finger yourself now, just use one, that’s right”. Sirius whimpers with arousal, with embarrassment as he does what Remus tells him to, the feeling almost worse than nothing in being not enough. Remus’ pupils are huge as he watches Sirius penetrate himself, tells him “a second one, now, only if you’re ready…”

The angle is awkward on his back but Sirius does it (has no choice but to do it) and Remus lets out a shaky breath. “You look so gorgeous, Sirius. Move them a bit, like _this_ , that’s right” he says, making a curling motion with his own hand that Sirius is forced to mimic. He brushes over his prostate when he does, and bucks forward with a grunt, a bead of sweat running down from his hairline. Remus pushes Sirius’ leg further back with one hand, pulling the tendons in his thigh tighter, letting his fingers move deeper. Remus lets him adjust for a minute, watching with his lips parted, glancing from Sirius’ face to where his fingers are disappearing inside his body and back again. When he’s unable to stop himself from pushing back onto his own hand, is making embarrassing, soft little noises at every thrust, Remus tells him to add a third. He complies, the stretch less comfortable now but more satisfying, and Remus makes a scissoring motion with his own fingers, tells Sirius to copy him. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open, the pistoning of his own fingers weirdly like being fucked when he can’t do anything to stop them moving, and when Remus tells him to add another in a dangerous, low voice, he gasps out a strangled yelp, looks beseechingly into his boyfriend’s eyes.

“You can do it, come on Sirius. You’re doing so well,” he praises, running his hands along the shaking undersides of Sirius’ thighs as he pushes a painful fourth finger into himself, breath coming short and sharp around the burning sensation, the fullness of it. Remus catches his wrist and _pushes_ , forcing Sirius’ fingers in harder, deeper, and Sirius _yells_ , would probably do anything Remus wanted him to now even without the spell.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Remus asks, adding, “honestly, tell me” as an afterthought, so it’s a direct command and therefore impossible to sidestep.

“Please” gasps Sirius, who hasn’t yet been told he can stop moving his hand, “Remus, _please_ ”

“Tell me, then. Ask for it.”

Sirius swallows around his own burning embarrassment, babbles “Remus please, please fuck me. I want you to fuck me _so badly_ , Remus, I –“

“That’s enough” he says hurriedly, taking pity, “and you can stop, with your hand. Take it out gently, please” and Sirius loves him so much for even thinking to add that last part, for always taking so much care.

Sirius sits and shakes as Remus slicks his cock with more of the lube, although it’s not like he’s going to need that much after the last ten minutes, Sirius thinks, feeling whorish and exposed with his legs still parted and aching. Sirius feels Remus cup his jaw, kiss him gently on the mouth, the chin, the cheekbone, as he lines himself up and slides into Sirius with a groan.

Sirius is whining, moaning, embarrassed but unable to shut up. He feels oversensitive, pushed to the edge where everything hurts, everything feels _amazing_ , Remus in his body and in his head. There isn’t a cell in his body Remus isn’t in control of, not a part of him that doesn’t entirely belong to his lover. Remus looks him dead in the eyes and whispers “Sirius”, stops moving inside him. Sirius makes a frustrated noise, but Remus stays where he is, continues in that same quiet voice, “stop breathing”.

Sirius feels his chest stop moving, the white fog of not enough air clouding his mind as Remus starts moving again, everything sharper and duller at the same time. Just before he starts to panic, Remus whispers “Breathe” into his ear and he does, great panting gasps as everything floods back to him. He does this a couple of times, counting carefully between instructions, timing everything perfectly, exactly how he does when it’s his hands around Sirius’ neck, and Sirius feels tears pricking his eyes at the intensity of the sensation.

“I’m going to touch you now” Remus tells him, voice gentle, “and I want you to come. Can you do that, Sirius?” he asks, and Sirius nods, nonverbal and overwhelmed, suddenly desperate to get off. Remus speeds the snapping of his hips, driving into Sirius over and over, finally getting a hand on his cock and matching their motion. Sirius feels his entire body tense, a blinding, intense sensation of overwhelming pressure, like every muscle is squeezing itself inwards as he comes, smearing both of their stomachs as Remus crashes into him for another twenty seconds or so before Sirius feels the wet pulsing of his answering orgasm.

Remus lays heavily on him for a second, holding Sirius’ jaw in his hands, kissing his eyelids, the wetness of his eyelashes, the corner of his mouth. He feels the sharp tingling of a cleaning charm on his skin, the warmth of Remus behind him, his arms enveloping Sirius’ waist and his chin hooking over one shoulder. His breath is warm in Sirius’ ear. He suddenly feels very tired, and sore, warm and happy and overwhelmingly in love with Remus, the lengths to which he’ll go to please Sirius.

“ _Finite_ ” he whispers in Sirius’ ear, and the charm slips away from him, the fuzzy edges of his mind sharpening slightly as he takes possession of himself once more. “Love you” Remus whispers, pressing his lips to Sirius’ temple, to the soft skin under his ear, over and over again. Safe in the circle of his arms, Sirius smiles dazedly, doesn’t need the compulsion of a curse to know he’ll give him anything he wants, always, forever, unreserved.


End file.
